


wouldn't it be nice?

by reedyas



Series: god only knows [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Day of Days, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedyas/pseuds/reedyas
Summary: You know it seems the more we talk about itIt only makes it worse to live without itBut let's talk about itOh, wouldn't it be nice?





	wouldn't it be nice?

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory this is based on the TV miniseries, not the actual historical events disclaimer.

Nix often thinks about Chicago in the least opportune times, like right before jumping out of a plane. He thinks about what it would be like to stroll up and down the streets of the bustling city, far away from the cacophony of war with Dick at his side. He thinks about sitting on a bench in a park in the sunshine, a neat glass of whiskey in an upscale hotel bar, the anticipation in the audience in a packed theater.

He also thinks about Dick’s face – his slight smile, the smirk in his eye when he likes one of Nix’s jokes but doesn’t laugh, the way his fingers sometimes lingered on Nix’s arm for a bit too long.

Then he jumps.

…

He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, so he muffles his sigh of relief when he finds Dick after Brécourt. “Going my way?” he asks from his perch on the side of the tank.

“Sure.” Dick grins and tosses his rifle to him, taking Nix’s hand to pull him up. 

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself,” Nix says, eyes scanning the scene in front of him. The men – most of them boys, really – look exhausted, but that’s to be expected.

“Nice ride you got here, Nix.” Dick claps his shoulder, a grin bursting through his usual stoic demeanor.

Nix’s cheeks hurt from the smiling so hard. Not that he could control it. He knows that Dick Winters would make it through this war, but to physically see him with all parts intact feels like a dream come true. He chuckles and shakes his head. “Straight from Utah Beach.”

Still smiling, Dick exhales and settles on the moving tank, thigh flush against Nix’s. 

Nix shoves the warm pool in his stomach down and plays his role as intelligence officer, updating Dick on the status of the invasion. 

War is hell, but this felt easy. This felt right.

… 

In Sainte Marie-Du-Mont, Nix drums his fingers on his thigh. Most of Easy Company is still scattered all over the French countryside, which is to be expected after their hellish jump. He licks his lips, his hands finding his flask tucked safely away in its secret spot. He takes a swig of Vat 69 – no, make that two swigs – as his eyes scan over the quiet and dark crowd of men, searching for a crop of bright red hair.

Nix knows they are going to move out soon, knows there will be more dead bodies of soldiers far too young to die, knows there will be more bloodshed and sacrifice. His gut tells him Lieutenant Meehan is dead, and it churns and thrums with excitement at the thought of Dick commanding Easy. He knows Dick will be a better leader than anyone can imagine – the leader of Easy Company the men deserve -, but the thought of him commanding the company on the front lines, Kraut bullets firing at him, makes his stomach roil in a way it hasn’t since he got into his father’s liquor stash for the first time –

Hell, this is what they signed up for. He takes another swig. Shakes his head. Now is not the time. 

Speaking of that crop of bright red hair – 

“Hey Dick, wait up!”

“What?” Dick turns to see Nix jogging towards him. He looks tired, weary, worn. He’s struggling to open a can of something or other. Nix would normally crack a joke, but he doesn’t. 

“You know that map you found? It had every Kraut gun in Normandy on it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Nix pauses. “Here.” He takes the tin can out of Dick’s hands, fumbling to crack it open. “Don’t ever get a cat.”

Dick glances at him, a strange glint in his eye. He’s quiet – quieter than normal. 

“What’s on your mind?” Nix asks, even though he has a feeling he knows the answer.

“I lost a man today.”

“Oh.”

“Hall. A John Hall, New Yorker. Got killed today at Brecourt. 

“I never knew him.”

“Yeah, you did. Radio-Op, 506th basketball team, Able Company. He was a good man.”

Nix nods and takes his eyes off Dick. Basketball seems like a peculiar thing to think about in the middle of a combat zone. Then again, Dick is a peculiar man. 

“Man… not even old enough to buy a beer,” Dick continued, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

Nix looks at Dick. Really looks at him. He knows Dick cares deeply about his men, sometimes to a fault. Nix wishes he could take  
Dick’s pain and bury it deep within under swigs of Vat 69. But he can’t.

He thinks about how nice Chicago would be. Or even San Francisco. He thinks Dick would like San Francisco, like the feel of the salty sea air on his face, appreciate the fog creeping over the hills. He thinks about what it would be like for his fingers to brush the back of his hand as they watch the sun set behind the Golden Gate Bridge, far away from bullets, shrapnel, and the stench of blood and gasoline.

Dick’s light eyes glance up towards him, and down again. He hands the open tin can back. “Not hungry,” he mutters, and walks off into the night.

“Hey Dick.”

He turns.

“I sent that map up to division. I think it’s gonna do some good.” Maybe Hall’s death won’t all be for naught. 

Dick nods, artillery flashing and cracking in the distance. And treads off into the night, lost in thought.

Nix watches as Dick walks through camp, shoulders heavy. He swallows thickly, wanting to take Dick away to Chicago or San Francisco. Wants to enjoy a steak dinner or watch the sunset with him in a way no man should feel about another man. Nix grits his teeth, walks the other direction, slinging the can of tuna into the air. 

Yes, Chicago or San Francisco would be nice. But so would a full flask of Vat 69.

**Author's Note:**

> Does anyone else cry when listening to the Beach Boys or is it just me
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
